March into the Sun
by katiecat23
Summary: There are infinitely many simulations, leading to infinitely many paths. If the world is just a simulation, then the outcome can be changed. Manipulated to the best ending. Replayed over and over again until they get it right. Sameen Shaw did not put a bullet in her brain seven thousand and fifty four times to watch Root die alone. It's time to change the game.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I wouldn't be in so much denial if I owned the show, now would I?

 **001.**

 **"** **Of all sad words of mouth or pen, the saddest are these: it might have been."**

 **i.** THE MACHINE

The armed men had left their vehicles exactly four minutes and twenty eight seconds ago, leaving the street quiet. She cannot pick up any sounds from inside the safe house. The camera on the corner sits stoically, red light flashing, as the machine inside it calculates and recalculates statistics for the people inside.

A burst of noise on the street draws Her attention. Four men exit onto the sidewalk, before exchanging firearms and splitting into pairs. She takes inventory.

 _ADMIN; Finch, Harold._

 _PRIMARY ASSET; Reese, John._

 _ASSET; Fusco, Lionel P._

 _NON-RELEVANT; Elias, Carl._

No sign of the others. The next wave of agents is still five minutes out. She turns Her focus back to the top floor, which is still suspiciously silent. The curtain flickers, and Sameen Shaw's gaze scans the street. Within the safe house, the wireless connection turns back on, and She can see and hear once again.

With a click, Root's crackling voice floods back into the system. "How are we looking?"

 _"_ _Next wave of agents is four minutes away. I advise you and Agent Shaw to prepare."_

Root casts a glance around the room. Shaw is currently rifling through the dead agents' pockets, an air of content around her. "We will be, don't worry," she responds lightly. Root meanders back over toward Shaw, the Machine a silent presence as they wait for the incoming agents.

Seconds tick by in the system, while the Machine buzzes through thousands of potential outcomes. She picks the one that would give them the best chances with the new agents – which includes a well-placed police blockade – and tunes back into her interface's earpiece. Root and Shaw sit shoulder to shoulder on the couch, ending a conversation the Machine has missed. Root tentatively reaches over and entwines her hand with Shaw's, who grips back. Gazes meet and before the Machine can interrupt, Shaw leans over and presses her lips against Root's. It is gentle, unlike their last encounter, shy and soft. The Machine stays silent.

They pull away, a smile slowly forming on Root's lips. Even Shaw looks peaceful.

"What's your Machine saying now?" she asks, tracing patterns on the back of Root's hand.

"She's quiet, actually. Why?"

Shaw's gaze skirts the room; she pauses. "Do you think She plans for us to survive this? We lost each other once, Root. You and I both know we can't walk away now but…there could be another life. After we finish this."

"A chance to live the lives we wanted," Root finishes softly. Shaw nods. "I dunno, Sameen, you don't really strike me as the white picket fence type of girl."

A huff of annoyance escapes Shaw's mouth, accompanied with an eye roll and the beginnings of a smile. "Jeez, Root, do you take _anything_ seriously?"

"Of course," the hacker scoffs, before sobering. "To be honest, I'm not even sure if She knows yet. But I don't plan on leaving you behind again."

Shaw quirks an eyebrow. "I was the one who left, Root. I should be the one staying with you."

"So long as we're together, right?" Root asks, a hint of apprehension in her lighthearted tone. Shaw nods and whispers _yeah,_ her thumb rubbing methodically on Root's hand. Peace would last two minutes and thirteen seconds.

Harold had coded the Machine to understand humans; to observe them and learn. She _had_ learned. And watching Root and Shaw discuss what future awaited them, if any, makes Her feel a little…guilty. She knew from the moment Root became Her interface that She would have to protect her. Shaw was unexpected – but the Machine knew how much she meant to Root. Harold had felt the same way about Grace, and Nathan, to a lesser extent.

The appearance of the agents on the street draws their attention back to the present. The Machine escapes back into Root's ear, clicking out their every move.

XXX

Time has frozen.

Root and Harold sat in the car, determination and fear set on their faces. Somewhere, Root is bleeding onto the seat.

Root's voice in the system: _Save Harold. Save him._ On repeat.

The simulations are running. The Machine speeds through them – _minimize casualties, save Harold, save Root._ In each one, She loses.

 ** _Simulation 1,690_**

 _Root swerves to avoid a bomb and Samaritan's sniper hits her instead. She's dead before Harold can react. Reset._

 ** _Simulation 8,026_**

 _Root's heel slips on the wheel and her car flips when Samaritan's does. Harold crawls out shaking but Root's grinning eyes aren't moving. Reset._

 ** _Simulation 4,781_**

 _Root shoves a gun in Harold's hand and tells him to start firing. She catches a bullet to the chest when the guy Harold shoots misfires. She bleeds out on the highway. Reset._

 ** _Simulation 10,635_**

 _A connection in the system opens and Root starts talking to Shaw. The words 'I love you' have barely escaped Root's mouth when a bullet crashes through the window and stops two inches deep in her brain. The Machine is left with Shaw's broken screams. Reset._

Twelve thousand four hundred and eighty three simulations. Twelve thousand four hundred and eighty three times Root died in the time it takes her to grin. The Machine opens communications.

 _"_ _I am running the simulations. There are too many variables. I cannot keep you alive."_

"I told you, save Harry. I've fulfilled my purpose here." Her voice is too breezy. "Give Shaw my message, okay?"

The bullet enters Root's abdomen and she gasps. Her probability of survival ticks down steadily with each minute, with each drop of blood that Harold watches with wide eyes spread onto her shirt.

She does everything She can once they reach the hospital. Root's eyes stay glued to the camera until she stops breathing. When Fusco makes the call, She trains her views on Shaw. She wonders what grief felt like to someone who didn't feel.

XXX

A week passes. She has seen very little of Her assets in that time; John is the only one who ever comes above ground. To be fair, She has been silent too, unsure of what to do with Herself. She hasn't communicated with the team, nor has She seen Shaw. Until today.

Sameen Shaw stands in the center of the roundabout, stoic. Her face is blank, her hair in disarray. As the children spin her around, Shaw reaches up and touches behind her ear. A shake of her head; the determined squeezing shut of her eyes. As if she cam will reality away, to make it a simulation again.

The Machine has been watching Shaw for three years. Never has She seen the ex-agent like this. (Rarely has She seen Shaw without Root, or at least without Root in her ear.)

The children leave the playground and leave Shaw alone. Her eyes bore holes into the ground. Once again, the Machine is hit with what She assumes to be guilt. They had talked about living, about the future. Maybe She hadn't run enough simulations. Maybe She had chosen the wrong path.

Leaving the park, the Machine scrolls through the system, looking for Root. A camera feed She hasn't seen pushes in front of the others.

 _Root stands next to Shaw. They're at the waterfront, the rest of the team further down the shoreline. Every so often, Shaw reaches up behind her left ear and touches the unscarred skin. Root whispers "I'm here, sweetie" every time._

 _A few minutes of silence pass. Root takes a step closer, their arms brushing. Shaw's hooded eyes trace the relief in the hacker's face._

 _"_ _Thanks for not giving up on me." The words are soft, shoved out quickly, as if Shaw's afraid of lingering on the subject._

 _"_ _I would never," Root replies. She brushes a strand of hair away from Shaw's face. "I'm just so glad you're here." She's smiling like a fool, and the corners of Shaw's lips twitch upwards in response._

The image shifts ahead. Nighttime.

 _They're sitting in a small, barely furnished apartment. Shaw has been too uncertain to go back to the subway, and Root's gentle reassurance shows she understands. The only light in the room comes from the flickering TV across from the bed. Root and Shaw sit shoulder to shoulder against the headboard._

 _"_ _Hey, Sam?" Root's voice is soft. Shaw hums in response. "Can I ask you…about Samaritan?"_

 _Shaw snorts. "Never knew you to be one to ask for permission."_

 _"_ _I didn't know if you were ready."_

 _"_ _Touching." Only partly sarcastic. "What do you want to know?"_

 _Root shifts, her eyes resting gently on Shaw. "Did they hurt you?"_

 _A moment of silence passes. "No, not really." She traces a finger along the back of Root's hand, which rests between them. "They ran simulations. Thousands of them. Tried to get me to find the Machine, kill you. I couldn't"_

 _Flipping her hand, Root captures Shaw's nervous fingers. "I missed you, Sameen."_

 _"_ _Yeah, me too." Shaw rests her head on Root's shoulder. "When we take down Samaritan, I'm killing Greer."_

 _"_ _We'd make a killer team. Literally."_

 _Shaw rolls her eyes. "Lame."_

 _Root grins. "You think we'll survive the apocalypse?"_

 _"_ _So long as we do it together."_

 _"_ _How sweet, Sam. Yes, the killer team."_

 _A snort and a gentle elbow into Root's side quantify Shaw's response. The night goes on._


	2. Chapter 2

**002.**

" **Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy."**

 **ii.** ROOT

Root had never been scared of pain. In fact, she thrived on it. It was almost enjoyable, in the right contexts; a sign that she was alive. She felt everything. Numbness was not something she enjoyed.

Her hands are gripped tight on the steering wheel when she feels a sharp punch to the gut. The gasp gives her away but she isn't going to give up yet, despite the horror she can feel radiating from Harold beside her. How many bullets had she taken over the years? She'd survived all of them, nothing she was ever too scared about. But this one feels different. Everything feels different.

 _Sameen._

Sweat pools under her fingers on the wheel, her eyes trained deliberately forward. It has been a whole year without Shaw, and Root doesn't plan on leaving her now. But it doesn't look like she has a choice – Harold is the top priority now. _Get him to safety. Protect the Machine._ There is a buzzing in her ears that has nothing to do with Her, and for the first time Root fears she might actually die.

 _I can't leave Sameen._

The Machine rattles off simulation statistics in her head, but Root stops Her. They can't go back from this. "Harry," she grounds out, each word sticking in her lungs. "Remember what I told you a few years back? About what I needed you to tell Sameen?"

"Yes." His voice is low and unsteady. The blood on Root's shirt is spreading too quickly, even he knows that.

Her head feels light and she pushes on the gas harder. "You have to tell her. This time. Please." Words are tougher now; her lungs burning almost as bad as the hole in her side. Harold is silent. "Promise me!" she yells, rough and teary and desperate. Images of a short tempered brunette flash across her dim field of vision and Root wonders if she would ever get to say goodbye.

"I promise, Root," Harold whispers, regret poisoning his voice. No sooner have they reached the hospital then Root's body goes limp. The last thing she sees before she blacks out is Harold's bespectacled face; tears in his eyes and his soft voice repeating _I'll tell her, Ms. Groves, I'll tell her._

XXX

There are too many lights. Damn hospitals. Root blinks her eyes open, exhausted and pain stricken though she is. This is the final bullet, she thinks. Her last stand.

(In a hospital. Alone. Bloody and broken and without Shaw.)

Doctors are talking over her but they wouldn't give her any information the Machine isn't already supplying. She is awfully talkative - too many statistics and updates, giving Root a play by play of everything she can already feel. The edges of the room are hazy, but she finds the security camera easily enough. Root forces her eyes to stay open.

Beside her, doctors are scrambling to keep her alive. Her heart monitor is beeping hysterically, and Root stares quizzically at her god's eye. She is still breathing - but the doctors don't think so. She knows enough to hold still. Slowly, the room empties. Root can feel her own blood on her fingertips.

"So," she whispers, "this is what dying feels like."

 _"There is nothing the surgeons could have done to make this process better. You would need more advanced care. I am sorry."_

Exhaling burns. "I'd need Shaw, wouldn't I?" The Machine is silent. "Figures."

 _"I can contact her, if you wish."_

Root blinks slowly. Seeing Shaw again might make this all more bearable - for her, anyway - but there isn't enough time. "All this time I spent trying to find her," she laments, "and it all goes to waste." Her eyelids are heavy. The Machine stops spitting out so many statistics.

 _"I can call her. There is still time."_

Maybe there is. Root nods and lifts a shaking hand to her wound. For a glimmer of a second, she is almost glad dying takes so long.

"Root?" Shaw's crackling voice in her ear floods her with a sudden warmth she thought she'd never feel again. "Root are you okay, what's going on?"

"Hey sweetie." _Talking sucks._ "Things are looking a little...dismal, actually." Blackness begins to encroach her vision, but Root blinks furiously and focuses on the little red light on the ceiling.

"No, Root, you..." Shaw cuts off.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Her voice is light. "I just needed to talk to you before...you know. I wanted to thank you."

A sniff smothered in static follows. "For what?"

"Just being you, Sameen. I wouldn't want you any other way." A smile flickers briefly on Root's face. "Y'know, I think if you were a shape, Sam, you'd be a line. An arrow. You always pointed me back home."

Shaw's voice is different when she speaks. Root can't hear her very well, but she knows Shaw better than anyone. The volume has been turned all the way up. "I'm sorry, Root. I should've stayed with you, I should've...saved you."

"It's okay, Sameen. You did save me. You both did." Root blinks one last time at the Machine. "Stay on the line?"

(She isn't even sure who she is asking.)

 _"Of course."_

"Yeah Root. I'm here."

The pain has finally started to fade. Shaw's voice echoes in her implant, overlaying with the Machine's so she can't tell the difference. But that is okay.

Root exhales a final time and lay still, eyes trained unseeing on the camera.

XXX

 **[ SIM 1 ]**

The sky is just starting to lighten above the city. The occasional car appears on the street; neon signs flicker and buzz in the gray morning. A car alarm chirps, and the only answer it receives is the gentle bark of a dog.

The dog in question pads along beside his owner as they make their way into the depths of the city. The subway is still quiet when they enter, the only sounds come from the Machine. Sameen Shaw lets Bear off his leash and rubs between his ears, before making her way to the bedroom nook across from the car.

Shaw plops down on the narrow bed, placing a plastic bag beside her. Shifting the blankets, she uncovers a head of brunette curls and grins.

"Hey Eeyore, wake up, I brought food. You might be able to eat some if you get your lazy ass up."

"How sweet of you, Sam." Root's voice is muffled by her pillow. After another minute in which she accepts she isn't falling back to sleep, the hacker rolls over and smiles up at Shaw. "Pancakes?"

Shaw smirks as Root sits up and rests her head on her hand, shooting puppy eyes at the agent. "Maybe."

There is something different about Shaw this morning, Root can tell, but she can't put her finger on it. Something about her smile – too much? – or her attitude – she never willingly shares her food unless Root has been hurt recently – or the way she moves – her hand keeps straying to her temple. But Root shrugs it off and leans closer, placing a kiss on Shaw's cheek. To her surprise, she doesn't even get an eye roll in response. Just Shaw's gentle gaze.

"Food?" Root asks, looking longingly at the bag beside Shaw.

Moment over, Shaw snorts and grabs the bag possessively. "Come get it," she teases, before stalking out of the room.

Root whines, which only fuels Shaw's amusement. Slowly standing, the hacker absentmindedly rubs at her side. She bids good morning to the strangely quiet Machine and scratches Bear between the ears, then meanders through the subway after Shaw and her pancakes.


	3. Chapter 3

**003.**

" **If you had a single flaw, you just could not last forever, could you? You just could not last for me."**

 **iii.** SHAW

Time moves too slow. She is left standing in the street with nothing but static in her ear, repeating Root's name into the phone despite knowing that she'll never get an answer. (It's too permanent. Root was a constant and suddenly Shaw can feel herself reeling off balance.) Fusco calls and John watches her fall apart stoically without a word; empty eyes on a blank face but she's felt this pain before. This time, it hurts.

She spends a week off the grid and resurfaces on a rusted roundabout where she lets the kids spin her for hours. The skin behind her ear gets rubbed raw, and she's never wanted anything more than to see Greer's grinning face telling her to start the simulation again. She vomits that night and blames the spinning, but she knows better. There was only one person on the planet who had the ability to make her do things she could never do before. She spends that night (and the next, and the next) on her couch, clutching a familiar jacket and refusing to let herself sleep.

The first time she goes back to the subway, she considers vomiting again. Instead, she buries her face in Bear's fur and tries to ignore everything that screams of Root. (She doesn't last long. She never could deny Root attention.) The hacker's room is purple and so very _her_ that she almost doubts that Root is gone at all. She wonders how many nights Root spent here; how many nights Root spent in a dilapidated subway car staring at a screen blinking her name. (She spends a week sleeping on that bed, Bear at her feet and Root in her head.)

Time moves too slow but the world has never waited for catch up. The numbers are still coming and there's a war to fight, and John's not much on his own. His pleading gaze reminds her of Root; of losing someone you thought you could live without, but being so horribly wrong. Shaw picks up her weapon and takes her new identity, ignoring a bespectacled man who disappears three days later and following John out the door. Harold had never been her priority. Shaw blames him for _her._

Root has been dead for twenty three days when John finally tells her to stop. Shaw has just put a bullet through a man's head and John is the most animated she's seen him since her return. "Shaw, you need to stop killing everyone. We can't keep leaving bodies for Fusco to get rid of. This isn't our job."

"Then what is?" Shaw's voice is sharp and loud, and she jams her gun into her waistband. "The Machine is dying and Harold's gone, we don't _have_ a fucking job. I made a promise that I'd take down Samaritan one agent at a time, and I sure as hell will. You want to keep _saving_ people, John. Fine. Don't pull me down with you." When she'd returned, Root was the only one that could pull words out of her. This is the most she's said in weeks and she feels herself reeling again. The pity in John's eyes disgusts her, but she lets him accompany her back to the subway.

Dusk falls and there's no new numbers or news on Harold. Shaw sits on the floor of Root's makeshift room, in the corner of her bed and the wall. She disassembles and reassembles her gun; the gun that Root had ended up with after all had gone to hell at the stock exchange. Her thoughts are stained with high heeled boots and leather jackets, flirty two-eyed winks and brown hair that smelled distinctly _Root_ , even when she used Shaw's shampoo. (It was kind of endearing, really, the way Root had carried around what small parts of Shaw she could.)

She's not sure what makes her do it. (There's one reason, really, the same one as before.) Something about how Root's absence makes her chest hurt and her head pound, and as much as Shaw swore she hated the hacker, she really didn't. Root's presence was something Shaw had gone from loathing to missing to enjoying, and she was missing it again. She thinks of that night in Samaritan's compound; how close she'd come to ending it right then. She could have, would have, if it wasn't for Root. But there was no four alarm fire coming to save her this time.

She presses the muzzle of the gun to her temple (it feels like seven thousand deaths are hidden heavy in the metal) and wonders how hard (how easy) it would be to pull the trigger.

Just another failed simulation, another tally on the deaths she's died for Root.

Shaw sees crooked grins and hears _hey sweetie_ and thinks this won't be painful at all.

Her eyes slip closed and her finger's on the trigger (this is how she ended seven thousand lives, to save seven thousand fake Roots). Bear barks and suddenly there's a hand on hers, pulling at the gun and yelling her name. Her eyes fly open and she fights back, but John's got the advantage and she's forced to let go. Shaw collapses against the bed and John watches; aghast, confused, concerned.

Seconds crawl like minutes before he sighs, "Shaw, what the hell were you thinking?" His soft voice is agitated, it's how he cares – she can see it in the frown on his forehead and the deep-seated fear in his eyes.

"I could've been with her." The words, like her voice, are pathetic and weak. Something sappy and sad that Root would've whined to John, not her. Shaw shuts her eyes against John's pity, but it's evident even in the way he sighs her name.

"Shaw. Nothing's gonna bring Root back. You know that."

"That's what you think." Some hard determination that had been lacking since Root's death slices through Shaw's voice. She clamors to her feet, eyes cold, hand extended. "Give me that. I have an ASI to go talk to."

XXX

If there was one good decision Harold had made about the Machine, at least in Shaw's mind, it was leaving the system open like Root wanted when he ditched them. She approaches the screens slowly, gun in hand, and they come to life at her presence. She presses an earpiece into her ear and waits. (John had told her of Her new voice. She thinks she's ready for the shockwave.)

" _Nice to see you, sweetie."_

(She was wrong.)

The way She says _sweetie_ is all wrong; that 0.4 percent of Root She couldn't download must've included her personality (her love). Either way, the 99.6 percent of Root hidden in that voice squeezes the oxygen out of her lungs and Shaw forces it back in.

"I need your help."

" _What are we doing?"_

For a minute, Shaw considers walking away. She has no guarantee the Machine will be able to do what she's planning. But it means Root. Root, and life. She inhales, exhales, and states, "I need you to build me simulations. Like Samaritan. But this time, do it so I can save your – save her life."

The Machine goes quiet and Shaw can't help but cringe at her slip up. _"What you're proposing,"_ She finally drawls in Shaw's ear, _"sounds impossible."_

"No it's not. The world is just a simulation, right? A combination of variables you play with all day. You've created simulations for everything; for us, for the war. Who says you can't change how Root's story ends?" Shaw thinks her heart stops a little when she forces the name out of her mouth.

" _Changing the ending is hard when it has already happened,"_ the Machine says, like it's simple. _"To fix Samantha Groves' life would mean changing everything. This future would cease to exist. The whole world would change depending on how you manage to save her life."_

"So you're agreeing?" She ignores the use of Root's full name and the desperation that bleeds into her voice.

An un-Root-like hum fills Shaw's ear. _"I don't agree with what you're trying to do, but something tells me I don't have a choice."_ At least She'd gained Root's ability to know when Shaw wasn't fucking around. _"You should understand the dangers. You've been through simulations before, at deep cost to your mental stability. I'll have to run thousands, maybe even millions of these. Every possible path. Some may be trashed before you ever see them. If you save her, time will reset accordingly. If not, this future remains when you leave. I will do my best, but this is ultimately up to you, Sameen."_

Shaw nods once. "Let's do this." She grabs some wires and with the materials she has, makes the closest replica of what Samaritan used, minus the glasses. As long as the Machine can get into her head, that's as far as she'll go.

She attaches the leads to her temples and waits. _"See you on the other side, sweetie,"_ the Machine whispers, and everything goes black.

XXX

 **[ SIM 1 ]**

She wakes up warm. Bear is snoring at her feet and there's an arm flung around her waist, and for a second Sameen Shaw forgets to breathe. She rolls over and there's Root, sleeping but breathing and _alive._ The backstory of how this simulation came to be is fuzzy, but Shaw doesn't care. She pokes Root awake and sits up, stomach growling. (She leaves with Bear and returns with food, and seeing Root sleeping again makes her smile. She wonders when she got so sappy.)

Root is as clingy and annoying as Shaw remembers, fawning over the agent and flirting like her life depends on it. (Funny, how it almost does.) Shaw revels in this familiar feeling, letting Root's touch remind her of the twenty three days she's been without it.

They're leaving for the safe house when Root grins and wraps her arms around Shaw. She would have shoved the hacker off before, but now she lets her be.

(She would have died to get this back.)

XXX

They get Harold back under a hail of bullets, and Shaw knows it's time to make their escape. She tells Root to go, she'll cover them, but Root's screaming that she won't leave her behind again and Shaw remembers when this happened the first time. Root's eyes are begging, so Shaw fires three more times and runs to the car, pulling Root in behind her. She shoves the car in gear and speeds away, promising to take the bullet when it comes.

Samaritan is on their heels, a black Suburban trailing their small car that Shaw's driving as fast as she can. Beside her, Root ties up her hair and grabs a gun, and before Shaw can tell her to get down, something explodes. Root plops back into her seat with a grin on her face, and Shaw almost laughs at the burning car behind them.

"You're an idiot, Root."

"Well it worked, didn't it?" So smug and happy.

They return to streets lined with buildings, and Shaw keeps an eye out for snipers. That stupid Van Gogh knock off isn't getting the jump on them this time, and she tells Root to watch too. Shaw turns a corner and _there,_ she knows the location like the back of her hand. (She spent too long staring at the city maps, memorizing the spot where she wasn't there for Root.) She turns down a side street before he can get off a shot, and breathes a little easier when Root starts flirting again.

Eyes flitting between Root and the road, a faint smile on her face, Shaw sees the car too late. Their misguided painter must have called for backup, and before she can yell, they're being shot at. She and Root get off a few rounds when a bullet hits a tire and the car goes spinning.

When she opens her eyes, they're upside down and her head is throbbing. She pulls herself out of the window and crawls to the other side of the car. Harold sits against the car, terrified. There's blood running down Shaw's face but it doesn't matter; she finds Root and pulls her leather clad body out of the wreckage.

Half a smile is still frozen on her face. Shaw forgets how to breathe.

"Miss Shaw…" Harold's voice pulls her away, away from staring at Root's empty eyes and immobile body. (She had come back to protect her. The simulation failed.)

"No, no, this is wrong." Harold frowns but Shaw ignores him, instead searches the street for a camera. "This is wrong!" she screams at it, at Her. "Start the simulation over, this one doesn't work!"

There's nothing but static in her earpiece and her mind starts spinning. Her hand is on her gun before she can even think it through and wonders if that's the answer. It always stopped Samaritan. The Machine can't keep a simulation alive in her head if she's dead.

She raises the gun and pulls the trigger before Harold can yell her name. (She died seven thousand times like this.)

For a minute everything is black. She wakes up wheezing.

The screens in front of her are covered in code and messages she doesn't understand. One of them flashes red, **SIM 1 DISCARDED.** The Machine angry in her ear, _"That was stupid, Sameen."_ She doesn't care. She knows how simulations play.

She turns in her chair and finds John watching her, brows furrowed. "How long was I out?" she asks, and he approaches her slowly.

"It was quick, just a few seconds." He stares at the screen with concern. "What are you even—"

"I'm playing the game, John. Finding the right path."

He scoffs, "You're playing God, that's what you're doing. I don't think Harold would approve."

"Well Harold's the reason Root's dead, plus he's not here right now, so I don't give a fuck what he thinks." His fault, her fault, everything blurs together.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" The screen blinks again, **SIM 2 DISCARDED.** _You were kids,_ the Machine tells her. _Too many variables._

Shaw adjusts her position in the chair, staring down John. She plunges into the third simulation and is back before he has moved. (She died too early that time, protecting Root from Greer.)

"Finding a way to get Root back."


End file.
